Taking Chances
by Aerial312
Summary: After a fight, Tony lets Ziva comfort him.  Based on some spoilers for S8, but nothing specific.


Title: Taking Chances (1/1)  
Author: Aerial312  
Rating: M  
Spoilers/Timeline:.  
Word Count:  
Disclaimer: I own nothing…I just borrow.  
Feedback: Greatly appreciated.

Tony leaned against the doorjamb for balance as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Blinking in concentration, he tried to line the key up with the hole, but it was proving difficult for his alcohol addled brain. It had been a long time since he'd stayed at a bar until last call. The keys clattered to the ground, and he cursed. Everything spun as he bent to retrieve them.

"Ugh." Tony paused on his knees, willing the world to stand still again. He almost tipped over when the door opened abruptly.

"Drowning your pain in a whiskey glass tonight?" Ziva asked, offering her hand.

Tony scowled, but took the proffered hand. "Funny, I thought this was my apartment."

"You are correct." She held onto his arm as he staggered into the living room. "I came to check on you. You were upset when you left."

"Not upset," he hissed, yanking his arm away. He placed the hand on the wall for support.

"Angry," she corrected.

Tony flopped onto the couch. Remaining upright required too much effort. "How did you get in?"

"Now, I know you're drunk," Ziva laughed, perching on the arm of the couch. "How do you think I got in?"

"I see you're learning to use sarcasm again," he grumbled.

"I am an American now," she smiled.

Normally he would find that charming. Tonight he was too pissed off and drunk. She wasn't the problem, but he wasn't in the mood to be told everything would be all right. "You picked my lock."

"It was a simple design—"

"I could have brought someone home with me," he argued.

She studied him for a moment. He was baiting her, but he couldn't help himself.

"I do not think you have brought someone home with you in a long time."

"How the hell would you know?"

"You…gloat. It is easy to tell when you have had sex."

Tony scoffed.

Ziva continued, calmly. "It is. You have not taken anyone home since…"

She hesitated and he pounced. "Since what?" he demanded.

"Since right after Jenny died. Since we were reassigned."

Tony glared at her. It did not help his mood that she was right. She had been the last woman he had taken home, all that time ago. But he wasn't about to tell her that.

"You weren't around for large chunks of time. How –"

Ziva stood, arms crossed. "I did not come here to fight about this. It is not important."

"You say you came here to check on me, end up reminding me of my shortcomings. Way to go."

Ziva spun to face him again. "You brought up—" She threw her hands up in exasperation, and stalked away from him, to stand by the window. She took a deep breath before adding, "I did not come here to fight at all."

Tony closed his eyes. This was rapidly spiraling out of control. One of many things he had lost control of…

"I would have gone out for a drink with you."

Tony opened his eyes. She was still staring out the window. He could see her reflection in the pane of glass: guarded. She had come over out of concern, and his pigheadedness had caused her to put that wall right back up.

"I know you would have," he answered. "I wanted to be alone." Namely, he hadn't wanted anyone to tell him that he was drinking too much.

"Do you still?" She had turned to face him.

He didn't especially, but he worried that he was still on edge enough that his mouth was going to get him in trouble. He nodded slightly in answer to her question. "I don't want to take it out on you, and I can't seem to help myself."

"Okay," Ziva replied. Her face was now a mask that he couldn't learn anything from.

Tony closed his eyes. He sat there waiting for the sound of the door. It didn't come. A few minutes later, he felt the couch dip beside him.

"You're still here," he noted, kind of surprised she hadn't just walked out after the jerk her had been.

"I am," she affirmed, leaning into his arm. "I will take my chances."

The rest of the fight in him fizzled out, and he let his head tip onto hers. She wasn't going to make him talk about why he was so angry. She wasn't going to tell him it would all be better tomorrow. That wasn't her way. She would sit there with him without saying a word.


End file.
